Description: Jugar is a calculating man, and one very obviously driven by greed and ambition. Pride marks his stride and posture, an air like he could best any man in any test of skill or might that they could proclaim. As if he could handle anything that might come at him. And perhaps that would be true. Jugar is by no means a weak man. His thews are strong and supple, brazenly displayed from his light clothing, and his eyes are cunning like a cat's. Selling this aura, his words are spoken bluntly, but with vigor.

A distinct foreignness pervades Jugar's features though. High cheek bones and narrow eyes that mark him of a different blood than most of the Corsain rabble. Shuuli features. They've become watered down with time, but remain prominent. Reinforcing this oddity, Jugar also has a habit of speaking with emphasis on strange words, and of himself as if he were another man.

Jugar makes an interesting bar room conversation, but most know not to let him lead them home. A cat's eyes are a predator's eyes.

Character History: Born to a family of dockers, a colloquial term for the city's sickly poor, Jugar has a bit of history with poison. His family were born of an exile from Shuul, from his grandfather's generation, and because of that distinctiveness they had always been poor and had to eat from the poisoned sea. It took a strong body to survive that, but their family had always had that at least. But, as his grandfather grew weak with age, that constant poisoning eventually wore down his body and killed him.

His grandfather, Mali, was a great man once, at least to Jugar, who idolized him. But Corsa had no use for greatness, not of their family's kind. Not with a king that loved order like the Weben kings. He had been exiled for a grand theft, but after nearly losing his mind in the desert wastes, he'd lost the treasure somewhere along the way. He was lucky to arrive in Corsa with his life, but without what had made it all worth it, he was nothing but a foreign vagrant. In the years before his death, Mali spoke to Jugar of his tales, his exploits, and filled the boy's head with pride and vengeance.

And as he grew, Jugar took to the streets of Corsa with the mind to become the next great thief of his line. The next Snake of the Desert, so his grandfather had been called. He was a strong sort thanks to his blood, licked his wounds quick and experienced everything from petty theft to greater felonies before his twenties.

By the day he had first met the prince, Jugar was an accomplished burglar. He'd climbed the twelve towers of Corsa, even the Shattered Spire, and knew the city like the ancients might have. He'd mastered the poisons that had killed his grandfather, had taken in all those old lessons, and had even imbibed the grass of god's sight to fill him with even greater acuity. There was no one better to steal away a prince in that tavern. It was Elbin's lucky day. And, for Jugar, it would be the payout of a lifetime.

Pride is the motivator of man. It is said that when humans were first born to Adraka, they were born without the humility of other races. Where the other folk gained magics and hearty being, humans had only lost. And, it is said, that that void makes them forever yearn for more.

Many humans fill their lives with the pursuit of pride, a complex and meaningless thing. But, through that pursuit, one can become many, many things.

And, on this night, a man became a bird.

The Shattered Spire

Jugar was flying. For two seconds, eight-hundred feet above the paved streets of Corsa, the thief let go of his rope and flew. From below, he was just a speck cast by pale moon light, falling. A chanced sight that was blinked away in but a moment.

Then, his hand caught ancient stone. His body continued to swing past like a pendulum from the jump and his muscles clenched. Jugar hugged that jut of stone between his biceps madly, struggling to keep himself up. His sandaled feet slipped and scratched, then caught their hold. He breathed, three heavy, deep puffs of cold air and licked his lips.

His heart beat like a drum. He was on fire. He felt alive.

Jugar looked up.

"Fifty feet," he whispered between slower breaths, thankful that his jump hadn't been in vain. He could climb here, where the sea winds hadn't worn the walls so badly. Still, the man chuckled to himself at the magnitude of the task, terrified and thrilled.

It was more than just fifty feet. The Shattered Spire was an ancient monolith. It was one of the many wonders of the city of Corsa, and with that horrible age it had become worn and ruined. The tower lacked great chunks of its masonry now and, with no internal stairwell for a common man to scale it, the ruin had been left alone to its decay. It still stood as a wonder of an era long past, when men could make such things. Jugar felt a great admiration for those people.

But now navigating the ruined patches and loose stones of their work was a gruesome task. It took time and skill and many lengthy detours. Fifty feet was made more like two hundred. And with a single misplaced hand he would fall to his death.

But, for the pay off, it would be worth it.

In the past, many claims had been made of the Shattered Spire. And though Jugar was a skeptical man by nature, a newer and quieter rumor had slowly taken hold of him. It drew him by his own greed and ambition. It was a rumor he could believe, that he had wanted to believe.

Nearest to the top of the spire, where it plumed out like a house atop a fat stilt, was a large and peculiar hole. Many claimed, foolishly, that it had been the work of a giant who had bitten the tower in some epic quarrel with ancient men. Their proof was that the wall nearby had two massive breaks, like some huge being had tread and squashed it.

A fool's proof, but it was an amusing story. One that had slowly faded into public truth over the years. But from this distance he could see the truth of that quieter claim that had so taken him. That the masonry above hadn't been broken by some mammoth bite, but dissolved, and very suddenly.

Perhaps it could have been alchemy. He'd dabbled enough in that to know it was possible. But the tower was hollow in the center. What alchemist could fly?

It only took two days of meeting contacts and carousing Corsa's blue-tinted squares before he'd heard enough. Boring academics and morons with bits and pieces of what he wanted to know. But eventually, yes, he had heard enough. That quiet rumor was true.

The Shattered Spire was an ancient wizard's tower.

No one had scaled the thing, at least none that had lived to speak of it. Not many men were foolish enough to try.

Where they had gone wrong was by being lesser men. It was not a foolish act if you knew you could do it. And there was nothing Jugar could not do.

Letting himself hang by an arm, Jugar changed to a new grappling line from the metal hooks at his belt and began the awkward process of working a piton into the stone. He could taste the sea winds and could feel them wash across his body. They would get stronger further up. He would certainly fall at least once. No matter his ability, he was only human.

But, on his pride as a Son of the Snake, he would make the climb. Kicking off against his grounding stone, Jugar grasped an inch-deep seam and pulled himself up.

Appearance: Nilima is a 28-year-old, dark-haired woman with light brown skin and eyes the color of amber. She is 5 feet and 4 inches tall. She has a lithe figure that is usually hidden under simple airy clothes, not unlike what peasants are often seen wearing around Corsa. Her ethnicity is difficult to determine by her looks alone.

Personality: Nilima is a person who tends to blend in. She is unremarkable and unimposing by choice and by necessity. She has been accustomed to observing everyone and everything in any given room that she finds herself in, often taking mental notes that are later jotted down in her journals. Nilima doesn't like being observed herself, for she is a very secretive person. In conversations, she rarely talks about her life.

Character History: For a little over 2 years, Nilima has been working as King Reagol’s eyes and ears when it comes to matters concerning the crown prince. The king had assigned her the unenviable job of following Prince Elbin everywhere he went. The job is a compromise between the king and the prince. The father wants his son protected and steered away from trouble, while the son didn’t want to appear weak by being seen with uniformed spearmen all the time. The soldiers guard him for official matters, like when he’s attending a ball, meeting a foreign dignitary or sleeping in his chambers. For nearly everything else, Nilima is the one who guards the prince. Elbin feel like he gets more freedom this way and Reagol gets a little peace of mind.

On the day of the king's death, Nilima was on duty. The prince had practiced his performance in front of her many times during the past week. He'd be miffed that he wasn't able to perform in front of an actual audience that night, but that is the least of his concern at the moment.

Prior to serving Corsa’s royal family, Nilima has worked over a dozen years as an informant for both the city watch and the thieves’ guild. Prior to that, she was an errand girl for a bakeshop. Nilima had been in Corsa for most of her life. She left once for a quieter life in Thubinrue, and again in Emern, but Corsa called her back each time. She is one of the many orphans that consider the city their parents. Her real parents were killed by a plague that had struck Corsa when she was three years old. She has no memories of them. Not even their names.

The Other Watcher

Nilima sat on her bed; elbows resting on thighs; head cradled by both hands. Her shoes lay discarded near the closed door. The only light in the room came from a lone lamp. Its flame was undisturbed by the cold breeze that flowed in through the wide open window.

It had been a long day. The king had hosted a gathering in the royal garden for a visiting nobleman from the south. Something about new business opportunities. Something Nilima didn't much care for. The guard captain needed all of the guards on duty for the event and, of course, Nilima had to be there.

The crown prince had tried to lose her again that day, this time with a clever use of the hedge maze. It was a valiant attempt, though it was still a failure. It was his second try of the month. The prince never liked being guarded and followed around. Not even by her. He had done it to her predecessors many a time and succeeded, to the great annoyance of the king.

Such wasn’t the case when it comes to Nilima. The prince has yet to truly get away from her when she’s on duty. It had developed into some sort of game between them. The prince tries to catch a moment when she isn’t looking, then disappears into the crowd, into an alley or wherever a chance presented itself. Nilima then appears within sight, just when he thinks he had lost her.

The plainest-looking sparrow flew in through the window and landed on top of the back of the lone chair in the room. "Hey, Ibon," she said, as she lifted her head up and turned sideways. "Catch anything tonight?"

"A couple of grasshoppers," replied the bird. It’s voice was sing-songy, and uncharacteristically deep. Uncharacteristic for talking birds that is. "Nothing special," he continued. "Wish I could catch a firefly. Haven’t seen any around lately."

"Perhaps you’ve eaten way too much of them," Nilima guessed. "Or they’re just liking the city less and less. I’m sure there’s still some out there."

The sparrow was Nilima’s familiar, a secret known only to her and the guard captain. She needed to show him off to get the job. Ibon had been the foremost reason why Nilima had been able to find Prince Elbin all the time. In truth, the bird was the one who always has his eyes on the prince. Nilima tends to focus more on those that the heir to the Corsan throne interacts with.

Nilima had always made sure to never be seen with Ibon in public, much less talking with him. He’d be less useful if the prince knows of his existence.

"Perhaps," Ibon thought aloud. "I’ll go look for some again tomorrow, once we’re done following the fragrant man for the day."

"If you’re hungry, I have some millet in that bag over there." Nilima pointed at a sack hanging by a hook on the wall. It was partially open. "Got it from the rookery. Thought you might like some. They feed those to the messenger pigeons."

"Don’t mind if I do," Ibon said, before flying to the sack.

"You’re starting to talk like a person, you know? All polite and such."

"I pick up a few things," the bird said between pecks on the grain. "Most of them don’t make much sense to me though. Your constant proximity to the fragrant man, for example. You spend so much time with him, yet you say you have no intentions of being his mate. He’s very colorful too. Females like that, do they not? Are you sure you’re a female?"

I hate to do I really dothis as I like my concept for Silk and your world Pendragon, but I'm going to withdraw my application. I'm in 7 games and DMing 1 while slowly getting another game ready to DM sometime this month. I thought about dropping out of one of my other games for your's, but they are all excellent games, so I have decided to bite the bullet and let this game pass me by.

I'll still keep popping in to see what's going on and see who gets picked.

I don't think we are going to be able to make a go of this. With the ugliness that occurred in the middle of the thread and the lack of responses I think it is safe to say the game simply did not garner enough interest to warrant a forum.

I will go back to the drawing board, perhaps in a few weeks, when school settles down for me, I will start working on something else. Maybe something in the Inner Sea using 2e rules. Or maybe something using PF 1e.

Thank you for all the work you all put into this and for taking the time to read the Adraka setting, it means a lot to me to hear people say such nice things about my setting.